


Feast of Stephen

by bogged



Series: Nubile Young Celebrities [4]
Category: Actor RPF, Disney RPF, Harry Potter RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Christmas, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogged/pseuds/bogged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zac invites Dan to his parents' house for Christmas dinner. As expected, considering the combined mental competency of these two when it comes to each other, everything does not go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feast of Stephen

**Author's Note:**

> W/R/T the underage warning: it is VERY brief and is really more of an "it's the thought that counts" type situation, but I added the warning because, you know, better safe than sorry.

_"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither:  
Thou and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither  
— "Good King Wenceslas"; John Mason Neale_

Dan's pretty confident there's just air in the holster of the gun Thom is holding, but the way it's pressed cold and rough into the side of his head is making him fret and worry his lower lip. He cautions a chance at looking in Zac's direction and Zac is stretching his legs, completely unaware of the gun ramming into the head of the bloke whose dick he'd just thoroughly enjoyed.

Dan says _Help? Help me, yeah?_ over and over again but Zac never looks, until he does and when he raises his face to look at Dan he is smiling like a dog with a ball in its mouth. _Help?_ Dan mouths again, staring right into the black of Zac's eyes, and Zac just smiles wider and sticks his thumbs in the air. Dan stares, gapes really, and then his face collapses in on itself into a crumpled paper ball of anger. He imagines breaking those long, flat thumbs off and shoving them right up inside Zac in a most unpleasant way, because fuck him all the way to the teetering precipice of Fuckface Fucking Mountain if he thinks that traitor's going to get any of _Dan's_ unsullied body parts up in that Benedict Arsehole.

Dan wakes up shaking. His forehead is sweating and it takes him a moment to register the pounding in his head isn't the sound of his brain throwing itself against his skull, but is instead the sound of someone throwing their fist repeatedly into his bedroom door.

"Dan?" Zac says. "Dan, you awake, man?"

"Erm," is about all he can manage.

"We're gonna be late, dude. Get up."

Dan pulls himself out of his bed, mattress low to the floor and sheets sprawled all over the place like they're trying to escape. He's rubbing the sheen off of his face and trying to remember what was so important about today that Zac is bothering him. They live together, but unless it's a natural, chemical, or romantical emergency if they're in their respective rooms and the door is closed they had agreed that that's sort of a sign to fuck right off and figure whatever menial problem is on your mind out for yourself.

By the time Dan pulls on a pair of pants and opens the door, ready to act annoyed, Zac is gone. All Dan can hear of him is his muffled footsteps pounding on the second floor. As he turns back into his room, Dan's eyes catch a glint of something down the hallway. Squinting, he moves a few paces toward it before everything hits him like a fat kid shooting out of the bottom of a waterslide.

Wrapping paper. Presents. Zac. Zac has parents. It's Christmas. They want to see him. Zac wants Dan to come with him. Dan doesn't have a gift for them, but that's OK, they won't be expecting one. Maybe he'll just bring wine? Wine would be good. When are they coming to the house? They're not. Oh? Oh.

They are having Christmas dinner at Zac's parents' house.

Today.

+++

After taking the quickest shower ever not on record that still covers all the hygenic bases—shampoo hair, soap in all the hard to reach bits, scrubbed face, quick _careful_ shave—Dan rushes to dress and then scurries back into the bathroom. Aftershave. Put crap in hair. One spray of cologne on wrists. Rub on back, or sides, or any part of neck (in his hurried state Dan just sort of punched himself in the throat while his wrists were still wet). Brush teeth. Gargle. Final mirror check. Sigh with disappointment. Tic. Sorted. Perfect.

Dan thumbs the light off as he leaves the bathroom and Zac is right there, chewing on his nails and not even giving Dan enough mental space to be startled before he goes:

"Ummm," looking plaintive.

"What?" Dan asks.

"You're going to be hot," Zac says and makes a little motion with his pinky, his other fingers occupied by teeth, in Dan's general direction.

Dan looks down at himself. He'd worn a light gray button up and a cardigan in a darker shade, both thin and breathable, and black trousers that have that fitted but not _gay_-fitted tightness around the crotch and leg.

"What's wrong with this?" He holds his arms out and that's when he notices Zac is wearing a t-shirt and jeans. They're nice, the shirt obviously new, but still.

"You're going to be hot," Zac repeats.

"It's Christmas, though, isn't it? Don't you think, I mean. I thought I'd at least put on a cardi and _try_ at looking nice."

"You do look nice," Zac says, a softness in his voice. He stops chewing his nails and smiles, his flush cheeks rising into his eyes. Dan wonders if his parents have always made Zac this nervous, or if it's something to do with Christmas or himself or the peculiar combination of all three.

"Cheers," Dan says, looking down at himself. "I'll change then."

"No—"

"No?"

"No. You—you look nice," Zac finishes with a shrug.

"Okay. Well, thanks. Again."

"We'd better get going. I'm gonna have to speed as it is."

"Right. Let's just grab the wine," Dan says. He feels his pockets for his necessities: wallet, phone, house key, all there.

As he walks down the front stairs, Dan listens to the bottles clink irritably against each other and hopes Zac's family won't make him super nervous. As he walks to the car, the California sun licking his skin, Dan thinks maybe gray was a bad decision, after all.

+++

"You're late."

"Hi to you, too," Zac says to his mother. He hands her his armful of presents and then kisses her cheek. Dan comes in a moment later, more presents stacked on the case of wine.

"Daniel!" Zac's mom squeals. "Oh, honey, let me get those. Zac, why'd you make him carry so much? This wine must weigh a _ton_."

She pulls the shiny, wrapped boxes off of the top of the case and drops them into the pile with the others as Zac gives a squeak, but it's unclear whether the sound is because of the fragility of their contents or from the case of wine being pried from Dan's fingers and shoved unceremoniously into Zac's hands.

"It's so good to see you," she says, enveloping Dan into the biggest hug he's had in a while. He rubs her back a little and tries not to feel her breasts squashed against his chest. "We are all just _thrilled_ that you decided to have Christmas with us." And she's pulling back from the hug, her hands cupping Dan's face.

"Er, ish my pleashure," Dan says through squashed cheeks. He raises his eyebrows and doesn't really know what to do with his hands.

"Oh my god, chill, mom," Zac says. He heads into the kitchen to deal with all that wine. "You're acting like he doesn't have parents of his own."

"Oh I know," she says, releasing Dan from her death grip of love. "But they're just so far away."

"They're in Australia, actually," Dan pipes up. "Not that far, but I reckon they wanted something romantic this year. That's why I'm, well, not there."

"That's sweet, dear," Zac's mom says, giving him a look that makes Dan feel precious, like he should be getting a pat on the head and a biscuit shoved in his mouth. Dan wonders if there will be buiscuts at any point during the night and what sort the Efrons might eat. He highly doubts they'd have Tim Tams or Penguins or Wagon Wheels, like he'd have if he were at _his_ parents', and figures they probably have sugar cookies with icing, cut out into seasonally appropriate vignettes. He hopes they have a gingerbread man or a St. Nick for him to bite the head off of.

"Anyway, thank you so much for having me over. I really appreciate being included with your family, Mrs. Efron," he says.

"God, call me Starla," she says.

"Starla," Dan repeats with a smile.

"Ooh, you make it sound so glamorous," Starla says, and to Dan's blush cheeked horror she actually giggles.

After she finishes arranging the gifts with the already substantial pile beneath the tree, Starla hooks her arm in Dan's and asks him if he would like a tour of their home. Dan says he'd like nothing more, crossing his fingers that they'll hit at least five bars on the way.

+++

"Dude," Dan finds Zac in the kitchen, dipping a carrot in vegetable dip and eyeing up the unfished side dishes spread all over the counterspace. So much for being late. "Your mum absolutely wants to make out with me."

Zac nearly chokes on his carrot. He fixes Dan with a withering look and slaps his hand away as he reaches for a carrot. "You can't have any of my mom's food until you take that back. She's never made out a day in her life and she's not going to start with you."

Dan just rolls his eyes and pops the carrot in his mouth before wandering away again, not even pausing to consider the dip. Who eats carrots without dip? What kind of ignorant buffoon passes up dip? Everyone knows carrots only exist as the polite, hygenic alternative to just balls out fingering the shit out of that bowl of dip, like Zac would totally be doing right now if he knew no one would ever, ever, ever find out.

"Weirdo," Zac mutters under his breath, enjoying the view of Dan walking away. He plunges a carrot into the dip and crunches into it, his face bundling up on one side as his teeth split the orange nub clean in half.

+++

When they are all sat down for dinner, Dan finds himself in a bit of a state. Zac had told him it would only be them two, his brother, and his parents, but Zac's aunt came in just before they sat down and is sitting right across from Dan with her pubescent daughter and a major chip on her shoulder. It's not like it's that big of a deal, to have to small talk with one more middle-aged person and maybe entertain a sulky girl, but it's more family than he'd been mentally prepared for and he's a little overwhelmed. He takes a large sip of wine in an effort to calm himself down.

"So," Zac's aunt says, slopping a dollop of sour cream on her soup. Dan watches it plop into the already thick cream in her bowl and tries not to grimace. "Who're you?"

"Me?" Dan asks, his eyes snapping back up to her face.

"You're the only dark-haired stranger at the table, aren't you?" she asks as she stirs the thick globs of white cream into her soup.

"_Marilyn_," Starla admonishes her sister, her face so red Dan thinks he could get heat stroke from standing too close to it. "This is Daniel, Zac's roommate."

Zac's aunt arches an already arched eyebrow and purses her tapeworm lips.

"Roommate," she says, disdainful and visibly configuring god knows what into the manic equation inside her head. "Not boyfriend?"

"What?" / "No!" Dan and Zac, simultaneously.

"Marilyn, really," Zac's dad speaks up. Except for their initial greetings, Dan's not sure he's heard him speak a word since. "That's out of line." His voice is soft, but his tone is unmistakeable. He is obviously trying to send Dan the message that this is not how they do Christmas here at the Efron ranch, that this rogue sister does not represent anything related to any other part of this family except blood.

"It's fine," Dan says and smiles. He can feel himself slipping into his interview persona and if that's how this pissy wench wants to play things, fine. He'll dance her dance. He'll dance her dance so well she'll be eating her shoes.

He looks at as much of her face as he can manage and says, clear and strong, "I'm not gay."

Zac's aunt snorts and jabs her spoon in the air, stabbing Zac's aura from across the table.

"Wish we could say the same for this one," she grunts, soup dripping in fat globs off of her spoon.

Well.

That's not quite where Dan had meant this to go.

Zac's mom stands like a tree exploding from beneath soft dirt and physically removes her sister from the room. Zac's dad decides now would be a good time for a wine refill and, as he's filling everyone's glasses he tries his hand at small talk to cover the sounds of women shrieking at each other from somewhere deep within the house.

"So, Zac, speaking of boyfriends" he clears his throat. "How's yours?"

"Thom's fine," Zac mutters into his soup. "Uh, I don't really want to talk about it right now, if that's okay?"

Zac is looking at his dad and his dad is looking at Zac and Dan thinks his heart is going to shatter into a million stupid pieces because this definitely feels like his it's his fault. Dan resolves to apologize later, to tell Zac that he shouldn't have said anything and that he is very sorry for ruining Christmas forever.

For the time being, he drinks from his wine goblet with one hand and, with the other, he rubs his fingernails into the denim covering Zac's thigh until one of Zac's hands meets his and they are holding hands in a way that makes Dan feel about as old as Zac's cousin, whose name he has learned is Amie and who keeps giving him the fuck eye over her Diet Coke. It seems to make Zac feel better, though, or relaxes him at least and eventually everyone eats their soup until it's time for the turkey to be served.

+++

Things take a surprisingly pleasant turn toward normality after Zac's mom returns to the table, pressing a kiss to her gay son's temple before she sits down. Not wanting to play favorites so blatantly, she gets up and gives Dylan a kiss as well, and he hates that so much that everyone starts laughing, letting their breath out.

Dinner is a long affair and by the time they're finished the adults are happy there was so much food, as even with it padding their stomachs they are all feeling pretty drunk and have stopped being able to hide it.

"Where's aunt Marilyn?" Dylan, not old enough to be allowed more than one glass, asks after everyone digs into pie. Starla giggles in fits.

"What did you do to her?" Zac's dad pokes her side, a playful smile on his face. Starla can't even answer for all the giggles she is shaking with.

Zac elbows Dan and rolls his eyes, mouthing the word drunk and not so surreptitiously pointing at his parents. Dan laughs a mostly silent, lip-biting laugh and smiles. All of a sudden the wine goes straight to his cock and all he wants to do is grab Zac's wonderboy perfect face and kiss it until it dies. He briefly wonders how everyone would react if he were to lean forward and press his lips on top of Zac's, tender but not exactly gentle, nibbling at the plumpest bit of lower lip as he pulled away, but then thinks that his totally fucked up I'm-not-gay-but-I-want-to-put-all-my-body-things-inside-of-your-son-for-some-reason,-maybe-because-he's-bloody-perfect idea of a sexual orientation has already caused enough of a ruckus for one sitting.

+++

After dinner they open presents. Zac and his brother are on the floor, reaching their asses further and further in the air as they make their way through the pile of gifts radiating from the flaking wooden bark of their real pine tree, which somehow doesn't seem out of place even though the fan is running full blast in the center of the room and Zac's dad has adjusted the air conditioning twice, the wine warming everything.

Dan admires the way Zac's cotton boxer briefs curve out of his slouchy jeans, something he sees every day but will never tire of so long as that butt continues looking so damn fine, and folds his legs up under the arm that isn't busy holding his drink. He is sitting in a dark red armchair near the tree, watching Dylan hand his mother presents and Mr. and Mrs. Efron kiss each other when they think no one's looking and Zac tearing the paper off of something and then waving it in Dan's direction, a huge smile spreading his cheeks and words that Dan is too lost in his total comfort to hear. He's always been good with children, though, and gives Zac a big smile and says something in return, matching his excitement level until Zac disappears under the tree again.

"This is for you, Dan."

The words shake him out of his reverie.

"Buh?" he says, looking a little pathetic as he peers up through his lashes to see who is standing over him.

"It's from us," Starla says and sits on the ottoman. She takes Dan's glass from his hand and places the gift in its place. The wrapped rectangle is thick, but not too hard.

As he opens what he is absolutely sure is a book, he throws out the customary _You didn't have to_s and _Not necessaries_ until he is able to register the title sitting in his lap.

Upon first glance it's not terribly exciting, probably would not stop shoppers in their tracks the way some covers do, but Dan is looking at the World War I history book like he just unwrapped his firstborn child.

"I…" he starts, fades off, and then tries again. "I've been looking for this everywhere." He looks up into Starla's face and her features avalanche into giggles. Dan is moonfaced. He doesn't know how this has happened.

"How," he says. "Where—where did you find this? I've been searching for _months_ and no one has it. How did you know?"

"Ohhhh," Starla smiles and sloshes the wine in the glasses she's holding. "A little birdie might have told us something."

So fast he's sure he'll have whiplash in the morning, Dan looks for Zac, who is sitting on the floor and clutching a box of skateboard wheels to his chest, the biggest fatcat smile on Earth melting all over his head.

"Come here," Dan says, his voice still a little vacant.

Zac born-to-act Efron responds well to direction, dropping the box of wheels and sitting himself between Dan and his mother, half his bony ass on the ottoman and the other on the lip of the armchair.

And even though he sort of knew it was coming in that freaky way that minds premonition things, he still had the decency to act surprised when Dan leaned forward onto his knees and kissed Zac on his lips, tender but not exactly gentle.

+++

"I can't believe you kissed my cousin," Amie says to Dan. They happen to be the only two in the kitchen and Amie has to speak up a little bit because it's hard to hear over the sound of Rock Band going in the other room.

Dan was put in charge of wine refills and his drunkeness is turning him into the People's Relovutionary Wine Pourer, more for everyone! Everyone for more!

Amie is leaning against the sink, arms crossed against her chest in a way that would remind Dan of himself if he were looking.

"Ah, well…" Dan trails off, caught up in trying to uncork their fourth(ish) bottle. "He's a quality bloke, your cousin."

"I think you're pretty quality," Amie says, blushing a mile a minute. Before Dan can register that as totally creepy, she follows it with the sigh of the eternally damned and starts bemoaning everything, namely her age.

"I wish I could drink," she says. Dan snorts and the cork pops off and he yelps. "I've never even tried wine before."

This catches his attention. Looking up from his pouring, he sets the bottle down.

"You've never even had a sip?"

"Not a single, solitary sip," Amie pouts.

"Fuck."

Dan can't even think about that. His recent descent into twentysomething lovesick alcoholism aside, he can't remember a time where he wasn't allowed sips from glasses held tall over his head by the towering, evergreen adults in his life. Even as a small child, all he'd have to do was open his eyes wide and turn one syllable words into five syllable songs and he was a veritable swinger of birches at seven-years-old. And since his parents were so involved in the arts, there had always, _always_ been someone drinking something new for him to try. That's not even mentioning the doors what opened once Harry Potter rolled around.

Dan looks at the bottle of wine and then at Amie and then back at the bottle. It's a smaller bottle, a sweet red with hints of summer fruit, and the four glasses he's poured have almost emptied it.

"Your mum would kill me if she knew I gave this to you, wouldn't she?" Dan asks, his resolve crumbling fast.

"She'd murder you," Amie says.

Dan sighs.

"Alright," he says. "Come here. Keep your hands down. Tilt your head back a bit. Good, like that. Now open your gob. Your mouth. Not so wide. Good."

And because the Grinch has obviously nicked the one marble he had left, Dan pours a small amount of wine into Zac's 14-year-old cousin's open, waiting mouth. He has to stand close to her to do it and the way she swallows the wine, not even thinking twice about it as she lets it course down her throat like a champ, only pausing to lick at a drop that falls onto her young, soft, red girlmouth is unbearably erotic. Dan has to stop himself from rubbing his thumb against the spot where she just licked and he can feel the blood rushing into his own lips, growing darker with arousal.

He doesn't ask her how it is and she doesn't offer an opinion. They stand, too close, and look at each other knowing how wrong everything about this is about to be. Dan is breathing soft and quick through his mouth, lips parted in the middle to form a quiet "o" as his brain races around, screaming like a man on fire, to think of any reason why he shouldn't be moving very far away.

When her eyelids flutter closed a twig snaps behind Dan's eyes and he drains the rest of the wine, dregging it straight from the bottle.

"Help me carry these glasses," he says to her, rougher than he'd meant it to come out, his voice scratching against the blood he's trying to unpool from his cock.

+++

Zac wakes up on the 26th to something poking him in the eye. It's hot and needly and in his hungover state he is pretty sure the gremlins have finally come for him, a nightmare finally realized.

When he turns his head it bumps into something rough and smooth all at once and his world jingles. Something falls into his mouth and he coughs. It tastes like an air freshener.

Groaning, Zac realizes he slept underneath the tree. He forces his eyes open a crack, but the horrorland visions he's attacked with—red! green! orange! glitter! decapitated head of Santa! encephalitic Rudolph! baby's first Christmas! all swimming around in his vision and laughing at him—cause him to let out a whine that almost turns into tears as he tries to scrabble his way the hell out of there.

Out from under the tree, the sickest surprise present of the year, Zac sits rubbing his eyes with his legs splayed in front of him. After a minute he thinks he can handle walking into the kitchen for a glass of water, but what he sees in there nearly knocks him off of his feet.

Dan is making omelettes. He's wearing his clothes from the night before, just like Zac is, but he's rolled his sleeves up to the elbow and buttoned up the cardigan and the outfit looks almost new, like he hadn't passed out wasted in those very clothes. In his parents' house. On Christmas.

When Zac's presence is realized, Dan looks up and smiles, waving the spatula in the air.

"Happy Boxing Day," Dan says. His voice is like sandpaper. "Veg omelettes fine by you?"

"Uhhh," Zac says. He doesn't want to think about food, really, but this is all just too much and he feels he should eat just so he has the strength to process it.

"That's a yes," Zac's dad says from the kitchen table.

"Good morning, baby," his mom says, enveloping him in a hug and pushing a hot cup of coffee into his hands. "Did you have a good Christmas?" she asks, tucking his hair behind his ears.

"Uhhh," Zac says. He takes a sip of coffee and scorches his lips into moving. "Yes?"

His mother smiles at him like a woman in love and Zac smiles back, his hangover fading surprisingly fast, affection from his mom working better than a thousand B12 shots. She puts her hand on Zac's back and guides him to the table, pulling out a chair dangerously close to hers. And sure enough, the moment Zac sits down she leans in close, speaking softly, practically drowning her words they are so under her breath.

"We like this one," Starla says, her eyes flicking to Dan, who flips an omelette over with prowess Zac did not realize he had.

"He's just a friend, mom," Zac says.

"Pity. He'd make a nice husband."

"Ew," Zac says, cringing at the word. "No thank you."

Zac's mother looks at him, eyebrows raised, before resigning herself back into Zac's personal space and forging on.

"I know you like them, um, taller, but he's just such a nice boy. Your father and I really like him."

"Mom, no offense, but I do not need you—"

"Oi!" Dan says, setting a serving plate of omelettes on the middle of the table. He gulps his orange juice, sitting down across from Zac and his mother, who look like deer caught in headlights. "No secrets on Boxing Day. It's bad luck."

Starla pulls away, smiling that knowing mother smile that drives children everywhere up all available walls.

"We were just talking about Aunt Marilyn," she says smoothly. Zac is momentarily impressed with how easy of a liar his mother is.

Dan shoves huge bites of egg into his mouth and Zac can see the pain behind his eyes, can tell he's hungover as balls and this easy demeanor is an act.

"Whatever happened to her, anyway?" Dan asks, egg, juice, toast, egg, juice.

"Oh," Starla looks into her food. "Sleeping pills."

Zac splutters his coffee.

"You drugged Aunt Marilyn? On Christmas?!"

Starla just gives the table a look and a shrug, like heh, whoops. Guess that happened.

"She's much nicer that way," is all she can give in explanation.

Zac's dad is openly staring at his wife, all who the fuck is this crazy person I am married to. Zac looks completely bedraggled, throws Dan a look that would make martyrs jealous.

Dan just smiles and basically doesn't stop until they're in the car, driving home with the windows down and the wind blowing through their hair like sweet French kisses. The road is open and wide before them, both of them in sunglasses, Zac belting out some awful Top 40 song on the radio and Dan resting his head on his arms, half out the window.

The song changes suddenly, from the abrasive manufactured club beat to an acoustic guitar so playful it's like little girls in bowties skipping down a candy street. Dan fades to sleep and Zac presses his foot down on the gas, really giving it to everyone.

His mom's words ring through his aching head, pealing like a bell: _we really like this one, we really like this one, we really like this one_ and Zac, glancing over at Dan and finding himself overcome with the urge to pull the car over and kiss him or fuck him or even just sit quietly with him in his arms like a couple of old sob stories, he finally realizes he has a whole world of thinking ahead of him. Whatever race Zac thought he was running has yet to even begin, but Zac is already out of breath. His muscles are giving way and his legs are starting to wobble. Soon he is going to hit the wall. Something has to give.


End file.
